


Blood And Roses

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Banter, Betrayal, Corruption, Darkness, Emotional Manipulation, Evil, Headaches & Migraines, Infection, Major Character Injury, Mid-Canon, Mood Swings, Multiple Selves, Pain, Possession, Sickness, Surprises, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 08:30:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14911991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: Emotionally charged and armed with a terrible headache, Signe comes to the Egos for help, comfort and company. She could never have expected how wrong she was to do so.





	Blood And Roses

As far as anyone could tell, it was nothing but a headache. Signe wasn’t normally one to get them, but she had been fairly stressed lately with the pandemonium of the tour and jet lag weighing on her.

Even so, she had made an effort to keep her normal schedule. Jack was busy recording all day, so she had put on sunglasses and a hat with a low brim to shield her eyes from the penetrating sun as she took a taxi to Egos Incorporated. The Egos enjoyed her visits immensely and she wanted to see if their company would be able to lighten her spirits.

Unfortunately, it had exactly the opposite effect; they were immensely glad to see her, but they were loud and boisterous. The noise grated on her ears and bounced around in her head, the dull, throbbing ache tightening on her skull until she finally hollered at all of them to shut up and leaned her head forward into her hands, breathing heavily.

Jackieboy was the first to approach her, putting a hand on her back and saying nothing when she flinched at the touch. “You feelin’ alright?” he questioned in a soft tone that she was sure he had practiced specifically for reassurance.

“No,” she admitted, cheeks flushing in frustration and shame when her voice caught. “I’ve just…got this headache.”

“Well, Henrik probably has some medicine that could help—and I’m sure he’d let you lie down in the lab for a while,” he commented. “Chase, you wanna get her there and explain?”

“Of course, no problem,” Chase agreed hurriedly, holding out a hand for her to take. She refused it, shrugging gingerly away from Jackieboy and murmuring something about going herself as she skirted past the vlogger and stumbled down the hall.

As she’d expected, Schneep was engrossed in one of his books when she arrived in the doorway, leaning on its frame and looking him up and down. For reasons she couldn’t quite pinpoint, the longer she stood there and waited for him to notice her—the longer he  _ignored_  her—the worse her headache became. Emotion surged into her throat and she exhaled sharply, clenching her fists tightly at her sides to refute the random urge to pry off one of her shoes and hurl it at him. If that would get his attention—

“Doctor?” she snapped tearfully, causing him to jump, the coffee mug in his other hand sloshing.

“Oh, well, hello!” he exclaimed as he set the mug and book aside. “If it isn’t our—” His words and smile faded as soon as he took in the look on her face. “Oh, my, you do not look yourself! Come here, come here and let Dr. Schneeple have a look at you.”

“I have a headache,” she repeated as she flipped off a few of the lights and moved to meet him halfway.

“Well, then, I will find a nice fix for you!” Schneep promised, cupping her cheeks comfortingly for a moment before directing her to sit in his desk chair. Sinking down gratefully, she watched as he began rifling toward the nearby medicine cabinets, pulling off her hat and glasses and sliding them onto his desk. “Tell me your symptoms!” he called, his voice echoing in the room and making her skin crawl.

“A  _headache_ ,” she repeated, dangerously bordering a growl before she checked herself and took a breath. He was just trying to help. “I—I’m sorry…I feel a little nauseous and the lights are really bright. I think it’s just a migraine, but…”

As she stared down at her hands, folded tightly in her lap, she lost her train of thought. One moment, there were words, the next—nothing. They didn’t stick in her throat; it was as if they dissolved, leaving behind nothing but a bitter taste and an unsettling sense of loss. Brows knitting in consternation, she searched for whatever end of the sentence had been but the only words that surfaced made up an entirely different question.

“Was this where it happened?”

“Hmm?” Schneep hummed distractedly as he scanned the label of a pill bottle.

Leaning back in the chair, she swiveled it further in his direction, leaning on one of the armrests to get a better look at him. “Where Anti took you.”

As soon as the bottle hit the counter, it popped open and scattered pills in every direction, forcing Signe to bite her lip and hide a snort of derisive laughter. The doctor’s hands hovered over them as if to sweep them back up but they were shaking, unsure.

“N—No,” he managed haltingly. “It was in the different lab, the larger one…not here. The, ah, the ache in your head—where on the little pain scale would you rate it?”

“Now don’t change the subject that quickly,” she scolded lightly. “You and I haven’t talked about this before…I’m curious.” Where had that curiosity come from? she wondered in the back of her mind. She knew full well that Schneep hated talking about that day and to this point she had always done her best to respect that, but now…

“Curiosity kills the cat,” he muttered hastily as he began recollecting the pills in a little pile.

“And Jack,” she added, matter-of-fact.

At that he whirled around, eyes wide in utter shock. “ _What?_ ” he stammered, clutching at the counter behind him with white knuckles. “Why would you…? What are you…?”

“Did you get curious, Schneeplestein? Is that why you were poking around in Jack’s head?”

Schneep mouthed another incredulous question, shaking his head minutely and then blinking hard. “I was trying to save him. It was brain surgery and I am his doctor; I was doing my job. W-Why are you asking this? I thought you came in here for headache—”

“My headache’s gone,” she brushed that off, and indeed it was. The more her eyes raked over him, taking in his nervousness and uncertainty, the more the pain mysteriously receded. Running her thumb idly over the veins in the dorsum of her opposite hand, she commented, “I think I have a right to know. Were you just not fast enough to reach him or did you decide to take your time?”

“…Signe!” he gasped, aghast at the implication. “I would  _never_ —!”

The desk chair’s wheels clacked noisily against the linoleum, interrupting him. Though his mouth was still open as if he were about to continue, he didn’t try, watching her as she came around the desk to stand across from him. Jack himself had always found her hard to read, so Schneep had no chance of it; he could do nothing but wordlessly fidget. For a tense, lingering minute she remained completely expressionless and then she tilted her head.

“You know you can trust me, don’t you?” she questioned, her lips touched with a  _smile_  of all things. Schneep didn’t like the look of it; as she approached, he felt an inexplicable urge to back up further against the counter. She noticed that and slowed her pace, lowering her voice as if to coax a wary animal. “You  _do_  trust me, Doctor, right?”

“Yes…yes. I trust you…” he whispered, though the words fought every instinct in his body as anxiety prickled over the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck. Swallowing hard, he slid sideways along the counter, ready to dodge away from her, but she caught ahold of his sleeve and drew him closer before he could think through what could have followed.

“Then you know you can tell me what happened.” Again, Schneep shook his head at that, pursing his lips tightly, and she huffed ruefully. “You know, Doctor, you have very beautiful eyes.”

He had no time to reply before she moved her hands from his sleeve to his face, tossing aside his glasses and cupping his cheeks as he had done to her mere minutes ago. He stiffened and jerked at the icy burn in her touch but even as he clutched at her wrists to shove her away, his hands were seared with the same electric heat—and then he couldn’t let go. His fingers were soldered there, no matter how he  _told_  them move; his mind was thrashing and scrabbling and struggling but his body wasn’t following. It was as if her skin was fusing with his; the more he tried to wrench away, the more he melted into her. Any words he tried to form poured out as nothing but a raspy wheeze and she chuckled sympathetically.

“Does iit hurt? Well, don’t whiine about iit,” she purred, words echoing eerily in the room and in his mind. “II could do a lot more to you, but II’m not Antii. II won’t put you through another niine months of torture…Your poor liittle body couldn’t cope wiith iit.”

Her smile widened as she watched his pupils dilate, striking blue irises sputtering with milky silver light that danced and spiraled on the edges of his vision. After another few beats, she released him and stepped back expectantly as he staggered, clutching at his head with both hands and panting heavily.

“What… _what’ve you done?_ ” he gasped panically, his eyes aching, his vision painted in soft, swirling static. All the color drained from his skin as inky black seeped through the veins in his cheeks, neck and fingers—it was as if ugly, snarled roses and brambles were blooming within him. Petals and whispers filled his head, clouded his mind, put pressure on the backs of his eyes. Dark thorns shredded at every nerve in his body and all at once there was a disgustingly sweet and steamy scent clinging to the back of his throat and his lungs. He couldn’t breathe—he couldn’t  _breathe_ —

“Are you sure you’re fiit for duty today, Schneeplesteiin?” Signe’s mocking barely registered through the tirade of noise and silence bombarding his body. “Maybe you should liie down.”

Before she had even finished speaking, he crumpled, making no effort to recover or even break his fall. He didn’t have the strength. The dull crack of pain as his head hit the floor barely registered; all he was aware of were the searing, sticky black tears gracing the hollows of his cheeks as consciousness fluttered away.

“Oh, you poor thiing…” the woman over him crooned, kneeling down to admire her handiwork. “The most tragic thiing iin the world iis a siick doctor, iisn’t iit?”

A sickly kind of delight and pity coursed through her as her own skin paled and guttered to gray. She felt no pain as her own blood ran black nor as her eyes flickered from green to keen silver. Tsking gently, she stroked a thumb over the inky residue slipping down his left cheek, rubbing it appreciatively between her fingers. “But iin this line of work, you’re bound to be exposed to some unsavory thiings, aren’t you? IIt’s almost as iif you have a  _Deathwiish_.”


End file.
